


how the rose wilts

by ghoulhunt



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Fluff, Mild Sexual Content, Slow Burn, ink and florist, karren my baby is a sad tattoo artist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-19 09:24:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7355269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghoulhunt/pseuds/ghoulhunt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>karren von rosewald and hinami fueguchi in a canon-divergent universe where they somehow end up running two different shops. karren is a tattoo artist and is trying to build up the rosewald family name on her own, while hinami is trying to live as normally as she can by running a flower shop with hori chie.<br/>slow burn, eventual karren/hinami bc i love my lesbian beans and there are like two fics for this pairing in existence</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. two years

**Author's Note:**

> hey everyone!! so i have been super pumped to write this fic and i'm so excited to finally post it. i've been taking a little bit to write it, mostly because i wanted to make sure that i could actually have one story be finished, and i decided to complete this entirely new fic for camp nanowrimo. my word count goal currently is 30k and i can't wait to continue writing this!! i hope you enjoy!

Karren steps out of the shower, wrapped in a towel with dripping hair.

The room is filled with steam. The fan above her, which is on, doesn’t work. Her mirror is fogged up and the counter top of the sink is slippery. The warmth from her shower lingers on her damp skin.

She presses the lock button on her phone and looks at the time. It’s nearly eight at night. The sun is just about finished going down, but her day isn’t yet over. She has an appointment with a client at a bar down the road. It’s a ghoul bar, but she’s not sure whether or not they’re a ghoul. She won’t know until she presses the needle to her client’s skin, where it either goes in as normal or bends against the resistant flesh of a ghoul.

The mirror isn’t letting up with its fog, so she wipes it with the hand towel hanging on the side of the wall. She sees her reflection in the mirror. Her hair is disarrayed from being washed. It’s grown out, down to her shoulders, and her bangs need to be trimmed, but it’s as lavender as ever. The edges of a permanent print, ink in her skin can be seen creeping over her shoulders, drops of water resting on the top of it. She had it done last year. It was one of her first, and one of the largest she’ll probably ever have.

She looks the same, if not more mature. Karren’s nearly 21 now. She’s grown into her sharp German features, her facial structure, her body shape. She’s made an effort to look more feminine, trying to grow into someone who she wishes to be. She still has her board-straight posture, but she carries herself differently now. She isn’t as emotional as she used to be. She’s more apathetic, more cold, more distant; perhaps the most noticeable change she’s noticed about herself is her independence.

 She doesn’t wish to be like anyone anymore, and doesn’t have anyone to rely on. No one to take care of. No one to care _for._ The only one she cares for now is herself-providing herself when she knows she needs it. Finding a way to make everything work. Only a few years ago she was meant to cater, forced to care, and it got to her. It got to her as an obsession, as a lifeline, because she had nothing to hang onto. She had nothing and no one to care for, and she _needed_ it, or so she thought.

In truth, she wanted to be loved. She used to tell herself that she was loved. When she was very young, she remembers feeling it. She remembers the feeling of being wrapped in warm arms on sleepless nights, being told that it was just a scary storm, or there were no monsters under her bed. She remembers very clearly being told that she was loved. That’s all she wanted, and for the longest time, she couldn’t get past it.

It’s a nagging feeling in the back of her head sometimes. The familial feeling of _love_ is something she would once say she would die for. She nearly did. The feeling of being a child was taken from her too soon, and so was her need for being loved. It’s taken a while to be comfortable with the fact that yearning will get her nowhere. The thought of ever being sincerely cared for makes Karren sick to her stomach. Thinking that she was so reliant, so _desperate_ to feel something.

She doesn’t like thinking of those times. Of herself then. The thought of it makes her want to erase those entire 10 years. She doesn’t think she needs it anymore.

  _Tick. Tick._

Karren realizes she’s spaced out.

Pale skin. A freckle on her neck. Maroon-auburn eyes stare back at her. She sometimes wonders if she looks like her mother. She remembers once, when she was listening at a time she shouldn’t have been, hearing Mirumo say she looks like her brothers. That was the only time she ever heard her family mentioned from him. She barely remembers what her brothers look like. Arunolt would be 26 now, and Nathanael would be 23. There are no photographs that she knows of.

She wishes to go back to Germany someday. She wants to back to her old house and walk through it. She doubts it’s in the best condition, but she’s sure that somewhere in there are photos of her family and a secret wad of the family fortune, unless people have already scoped the place out. Most likely it’s already happened with the money, but she’s positive no one would take a family photo. What’s the worth in that anyways?

Karren leans down and opens the cabinet under the sink. She grabs the hair dryer and plugs it into an outlet in the wall, where her phone is plugged in charging. She turns it on and starts drying her hair, brushing it out. The conditioner she used makes her hair easy to comb through, and her hair is thin enough that it dries in about five minutes. She decides she’s just going to pull it back tonight, so there’s no need for her to get any of the rest of her products out.

She puts it away and grabs her phone and the charger, and walks out into the hallway. The lights are on in the living area and the hall. She turns to the left and opens the screen to her room. It’s not as big as her old room, but it’s comfortable. The walls are white and her floors are tatami, like the rest of the apartment. A bed lies in the far corner of the room, a window sitting above it. A night table stands beside it, and next to that a desk. A closet stands on the wall that she enters, and against the wall on the left is a vanity and a clothing rack, her nice blazers and outfits hanging from it. It’s very minimalistic. It’s enough.

She throws her phone on the bed and grabs a bra hanging on the side of her chair. She opens the closet door and grabs a pair of knickers. She’s unsure of which suit to wear tonight. She’s not even sure she wants to _wear_ a suit. She drags herself over to the rack and finds a plain white tee shirt, cropped just a bit. She finds a pair of leather pants, tight and shaping her slightly curved figure. She grabs a pair of stilettos from underneath her vanity and sets them next to her bed. She sits down at the vanity.

Her phone starts to ring.

Karren lets out a frustrated groan. She gets up and grabs it. The number is unknown, and she’s praying that it’s not her client.

“Hello?” She answers.

“Ah, this is the right number!” A voice exclaims from the other line. It’s very high pitched.

A voice she hasn’t heard in a long time.

 “I knew it!”

“Ch-Chie?” Karren is bewildered. Surprised. Angry.

“Yep!” Hori giggles.

“How the _hell_ did you get my number?” Karren yells.

“The internet. It’s amazing the stuff you can find on there.” She replies.

It’s been 2 years since she talked to anyone she remotely knew. 2 years since that night, 2 years since she nearly died. 2 years and she had no trace left. It makes her angry that this little _Arschloch_ has the _nerve_ to call her like this out of nowhere, and so _casually!_ Like they’re _friends._

“ _Was-_ why are you calling me? What could you _possibly_ want?” Karren asks shrilly.

There’s a moment of humming on the other line. As if she’s trying to decide what she wants. “Kanae-san, you worked with flowers before.”

“ _Don’t_ call me that.” Karren snarls.

“You worked with flowers before.” She repeats.

Karren huffs out a breath of air through her nose. “ _Ja,_ I did. And?”

“I still don’t know what _ja_ means, you know? I’m going to take it as a yes.” Hori says. “I need some help transplanting flowers. Also arranging them, I know you’re good with that stuff.”

She walks over to the vanity and sits down. Puts the phone down and on speaker. She needs to get ready. She impatiently bounces her leg. A small swell of pride erupts from her core. One person she _doesn’t_ like is asking for her knowledge. She’d hate to waste it on such a case, but really, what is she to do with this information anymore?

“Thank you.” Karren says. She can see herself trying to hold back a smirk in the mirror. “I can’t help you with the physical aspect, unfortunately. I have business tonight and-”

“Ooh, what kind of business?” Hori interrupts. Karren hears another voice on the other line, softer, telling Hori it doesn’t matter. That they don’t need help. The voice doesn’t sound rude about it though-rather, it’s a testy tone, as if the one who’s really causing the worse situation is Hori.

“It’s none of your matter.” Karren replies. She finds her concealer and starts applying it underneath her eyes, covering her lack of sleep. Hori Chie is so _nosy._ She screws the cap back on the product and starts blending it out. “What flowers do you have?”

“You need to stop being so pretentious.” Hori comments. “Hinami-chan, do you know what flowers we have?”

Karren starts blotting on foundation. With all this makeup on it was a bit useless to take a shower. _Was auch immer._

“We have lilacs, chrysanthemums, peonies, poppies, calla lilies, tiger lilies, a few variations of roses, daffodils…tulips and hydrangeas. We have a lot more too…” The other voice, Hinami’s, says. “We’re not planting them together, uhm…just, how should we line them up on shelves.”

“And what is this for, exactly?” Karren asks.

“None of your matter.” Hori mocks.

“ _Verpiss dich._ ”

She knows Hori is probably satisfied with herself. Really, she doesn’t even know why she’s _talking_ to Hori anymore. She could just hang up. She could just be done with conversation.

Something is holding her back.

“You tell me and I’ll tell you.” Hori says.

“Hori-san, can’t you just leave it alone?” Hinami asks. Karren silently agrees.

“No! He asked first.” Hori replies. Karren cringes and drops the eyebrow brush. The thought of explaining her situation right now is frustrating. “I won’t tell until Kanae-kun does.”

“I thought I already said _not_ to call me that.” Karren mutters under her breath. “We’re not getting anywhere with this. I’m going to hang up.”

“I’ll only call you back, there’s no point.”

“Fine! I’m a tattoo artist now if you really want to know, and I’m trying to get ready to meet with a client. Like it actually matters to your intrusive little mind.” Karren has to put down the eyeshadow brush she’s just gotten out. She’s so beyond annoyed and angry. “If you actually respected what I said and _listened_ you’d get the _fucking clue_ that I don’t go by Kanae anymore! I am not _comfortable_ with being addressed with that name and _ich_ -I-I-”

She has to stop. She takes a shaky breath. She’s so worked up that she’s practically in tears.

_Ich bin ein Mädchen._

“Then what do you go by?”

“I need to go.” Without hesitation, Karren ends the call.

She hasn’t felt like this in a long time. She hasn’t let her emotions out so easily in such a long while. She thought that she didn’t care for Shuu anymore-no, she absolutely _knows_ she doesn’t, but this jealousy, this overwhelming insensible _pride_ she gets whenever she talks to anyone remotely closer to Shuu than she does makes her feel like she isn’t getting anything-not attention, not love, nothing. She hated Hori. She doesn’t like her for one less reason. She doesn’t care that Hori is Shuu’s friend, or at least, _was._ That doesn’t matter.

She just wants to be known as herself. As Karren. Without explanation.

_Tick. Tick._

She takes another deep breath. Looks at herself in the mirror. Guilt. She was awfully rude. She thinks Hori deserves it-it’s a mutual thing. Yet she can’t help but now feel a bit guilty. Perhaps in the past she wouldn’t have felt this way-she would’ve just ignored Hori. Besides, all she is is a mere human. Nothing more, nothing less, but Karren feels bad. Like she should have at least helped a little.

 She finds the eyeshadow she wants to use-a bronze colored eye palette-and begins to pack it on her eyelids.

A tattoo artist, of all things. That’s what she does now, at least, on the side. She loves it. During the day she and a coworker sell music and records, mostly from local artists. It’s a nice business, and it sits below her apartment. It gets her enough money that she’s able to rent this out, plus the space below, and put some into her savings. She wants the Rosewald family name to exist again.

She has a tattoo studio in the next room over. It’s big enough for her to walk around in, enough that a chair and an overhead light can fit. They were some of the first things she bought once she was able to get to around 200,000 yen without having to pay rent. It took her a long time, between tips and preexisting money. She thinks for what she does, she gets a good amount. Of course, prices are discussed at the meetings with the clients, but it usually ends up being around 10,000 yen per hour, and she often spends up to 4 hours on tattoos. A few times a week, plus the money she makes working at the music store below her; Karren has worked hard to get to where she is now.

She takes in a deep breath. Exhales slowly.

She finds her eyeliner. Begins to streak a near perfect line across her eyelid slowly. Her eyes have become watery, and they glisten in the light of her room. She takes a moment to blink the tears away. She finishes off with a dark red lip stain. Stands and moves across the room, stilettos clacking against the floor. She fishes through the rack of hung clothes to find the denim jacket she wants to wear, sliding it on. She fetches a small purse off of the side of the vanity.

A ring comes from her phone.

Karren looks down. It’s another unknown number, this time a text.

_Hey, this is Hinami. It’s a flower shop. I’m sorry for how Hori-san was acting. Hope your meeting goes well!!!_

A pin is attached to the message.

_Perhaps I’ll go tomorrow._

She puts the phone in the purse and strides across the apartment. She slips on her shoes, shuts the lights, and closes the door.


	2. flower planting

Technically, tattooing is illegal. At least, it’s illegal for Karren.

That’s why she only gives her cards to clients and other “black market” tattoo artists, and she doesn’t have any signs outside or in the shop. It’s why she has a drill for clients when they come for their tattoos-they have to ask for Karren, have to ask for the scheduled violin lessons. Even before that she always meets the client to discuss prices and what’s doable. She thinks it’s a good system, and she’s never gotten a person she doesn’t recognize.

It’d be absolutely terrifying if she did.

She has yet to make a plan for a case like that, but really, with the amount of illegal tattoo artists she knows of that haven’t been caught (and have been in the industry for quite a while), she knows there’s a slim chance of it ever happening. That is to say there’s still a small percentage. In order to tattoo, she’s supposed to have a medical degree. She doesn’t. Of course she understands why the law was passed-to prevent any harm to the client, and in the case of infection or injury, the knowledge of how to properly take care of it-but she could be doing much better things with a medical degree. She could be making so much more money, but she doesn’t find it interesting enough. She has a faux one in the case of being caught, but simply _having_ an artificial degree in the practice is risky. If caught, she would have to pay a fine and never be able to work in the industry again. The fine isn’t bad. It’s the fact that it could ruin her career. What she loves to do. She doesn’t think it’s fair, but that’s why she stays on the low with her business. It’s why she goes to the small clubs and ghoul clubs, because she knows the environments and people; no one would actually do anything to sabotage her or turn her in, because all they want is to express themselves. To fight the stigma surrounding tattoos, which are still associated with the Yakuza. If she wasn’t there to do her job, if she wasn’t needed as a part of this industry, they wouldn’t be able to do so.

Karren leans against a brick wall adjacent to the music store, taking a break to get some fresh air. It’s been two days since that phone call. Apparently, today was opening day for the flower shop, and she’s been thinking of stopping in. She knows the things she said were quite mean to Hori, but she also knows that Hori could give two shits about what she says. It’s how she’s always been, and more often than not it would make Karren angry, because all she wanted was a _reaction_ out of the human. She used to not feel this sort of remorse to things she said. She used to not apologize at all.

She feels as guilty though. The least she could do is stop in. Even if Hori doesn’t care, it’d make Karren feel better about herself. She doesn’t even have to apologize. Just showing up would do, she thinks. She takes her phone out of her back pocket and looks at the time. It’s just a bit past 5:30, and the sun in the March month is beginning to set. It kindles the buildings around her and the clouds above, shades of pink and orange coloring the earth around her like a painting.

She opens her messages and goes to the window where Hinami had sent the location. She tries to map it out in a walking distance. It turns out the shop is in Aoyama, so she’ll have to take the train from Shibuya station. Technically she’s not supposed to leave the store until 6 o’clock, but it’s her business. A small business that probably requires the extra half an hour, but still hers. It wouldn’t kill her to leave just a few minutes early. She texts Hanako, one of her coworkers.

_Could you check my time card out? I’m going to leave a little early._

Karren starts to walk down the slim street leading out to the main road. The cars and streets are awfully busy, people bustling to get home or to dinner. She approaches the exit of the street and takes a left. Almost immediately she’s being looked at by those walking past her. She notices, but she doesn’t really care-with a combination of her unusual fashion and her violaceous hair, she’s bound to. The dress she’s wearing is black, long and silhouetted, draping over her shoulders effortlessly and hanging down to her mid-calf. She wears see-through tights. Her feet click against the sidewalk in ankle boots. She’s gotten to the point where she doesn’t care to tell people off, because it’s a daily occurrence and there’s no point.

Eventually she makes it to the station. She walks down the stairs and finds the train to the Hanzōmon line, where thankfully, there’s a train just pulling in. It should only take about five minutes to get to Aoyama on the line, and she’s silently glad she doesn’t have to wait. Karren steps up to the front of the doors as people file out and start cramming in, desperate to also get home. There isn’t a place for her to sit down, so she stands, grasping one of the overhead rings.

The doors close. The scent of sweat and blood and humans infiltrate her nose. Just being around 4 is overwhelming for her-being around 40 is a death sentence. She tries not to gag or look disgusted, or plug her nose, and holding her breath would just be strange. She hates the fact that she never had the chance to try and blend in with humans when she was younger. Maybe then she’d be able to stand it just a bit more than she’s able to nowadays.

 The smell of sweat is revolting to her, the scent of blood making her mouth water with anticipation.

She hasn’t eaten in a long time.

It’s not like she can just kill here though. That would be such a stupid move on her part. She waits. She can feel the weight of her kagune shift under her skin.

She’s thankful she’s wearing sunglasses.

_Ich muss aus diesem Zug zu bekommen Ich muss aus diesem Zug zu bekommen Ich muss aus diesem Zug zu bekommen Ich muss aus diesem Zug zu bekommen_

She tries to focus on something other than the scent. She looks out the windows. The train has emerged from underground, revealing the enormous city around her. Cars pass underneath the track. She’s never really taken the time to appreciate the city for what it is, despite having living here for more than half of her life. Then again, she rarely left the manor, and when she was able to, she only ever went to a few places she knew of.

The last couple of years have been complete freedom to her. Karren has the ability to leave and explore, and she takes advantage of it. She puts her desires first rather than always being held back, as she once was. The freedom and willpower is still new to her, even though it’s been a few years now, and she sometimes has to tell herself that it’s okay to do something or another. That she now has the ability to make her own choices, such as taking this train. It’s what _she_ wants now, rather than what everyone else wants. It’s selfish. She embraces what she has now, nonetheless, since it was never what she wanted; she was too silenced. It doesn’t have to be like that anymore, now that she’s on her own.

She’s glad she has some sense of independence.

The train comes to a stop. She’s in Aoyama now, and the moment she can, she escapes the train cart, taking in a large of the station air. The faint scent of humans is always there, but not as present as in that claustrophobic train.

_Tick. Tick._

She keeps walking, her phone being used as a map to get her to the building. Down another street, down another right. She approaches where the location is seen on her phone, the dot representing her at the place. Large windows sit on either side of the door, green plants lining the windowsill and hanging from the ceiling. There’s a few steps up to the door, the address scrawled above the doorframe. She turns off the phone and opens the door, a bell going off to announce her arrival.

She stands in the opening of a decent sized space. The walls are a very light pink and the floors are dark and wooden. 2 rows of track lighting illuminate the shop, glass shelves lining the walls to her left and to her right, filled with flowers. There are 3 rows of long bookshelves, artistically overflowing in more green plants and dotted with small pots of herbs. The tops have watering cans and extra plant trays, as well as the occasional piece of décor. A counter the same color of the bookshelves sits in the back of the shop, where Karren sees Hori Chie and another girl chatting.

They look to her. They stop talking. Karren forgot just how short Hori was.

There’s a large grin on Hori’s face. The other girl simply looks stunned. Karren feels extremely uncomfortable, but continues to walk into the small flower shop.

“It’s cute, I suppose.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to show up at all!” Hori says. Guilt plagues Karren’s gut.

She doesn’t smile, knowing it would come out as a grimace. Rather blankly, she replies, “It’s the least I could do.”

There’s suddenly arms wrapped around her waist. Hori is _hugging_ her. She tries to squirm out of it, but it’s no use. _She has a strong grip._

“Let go of me.” She grumbles. Hori whimpers and lets go.

“You’re just a ray of sunshine.” Hori says.

Karren’s gaze shifts to the girl’s. She still looks terrified of Karren. No, terrified isn’t the word she’s looking for. No, it’s as if she’s trying to remember something; it’s as if she’s experienced her presence before, but Karren has never seen her. Her hair is brown and cut into a bob, and she has side bangs. She’s wearing a white sleeveless romper that has little coral designs on it, and she has a barrette in her hair. She looks very young. The scent of vanilla and ghoul rolls off of her, but it’s not threatening. It’s guarded, but entranced. Kind.

“This is Hinami-chan.” Hori says, pointing to the girl still leaning against the counter. She’s suddenly alert, and smiles at Karren. She gives a little wave in Hinami’s direction.

“Hi, er…I don’t know your name.” Hinami says.

It reminds her. It’s why Hori hasn’t addressed her in any way. _At least she listened this time._ “Karren Von Rosewald.”

“That’s a nice name.” Hinami smiles again. “I’m Hinami. Hinami Fueguchi.”

“Thank you. It’s nice to meet you.” Karren says.

Hori breaks the softness quite loudly. “You go by Karren now?”

Karren shuts her eyes and takes a deep breath. Crosses her arms. “Yes.”

“Why did you change your name? I liked Kanae, I thought it was fitting.” Hori says, putting her hands on her hips.

“Kanae was never my name. Easy as that. Does it really matter?”

“I mean, a little, considering I always knew you as that and now you’re…different. No offense.”

_Nichts für ungut meinen Arsch._

“Hey, Hori-san, why don’t you get us all some coffee?” Hinami suggests.

“Fine.” Hori stomps away to a door in the back, leaving Hinami and Karren alone.

Karren feels like it was a bad idea to come here. She never spoke to Hori unless it was related to Shuu. She really has nothing to talk about with Hori, and honestly trying to talk about anything with Hori instantly annoys Karren. She doesn’t have good patience when it comes to the small brunette, and she really doesn’t know what to say to Hinami. After all, they did just meet.

“I take it you and Hori don’t get along too well.”

The voice comes from Hinami. It takes Karren by surprise.

“Not quite.” Karren answers. “We have a…long history.”

“Oh.” There’s a pause. “I kind of figured with the way you answered the phone the other day.”

“ _Scheiße.”_ Her cheeks begin to burn. Her face is flushed pink with embarrassment. “Yes, I was... very caught off guard. It’s been a few years.” She begins to fiddle with one of the buttons on her dress.

There’s another silence. Karren averts her eyes from Hinami’s, deciding to look to the floor. Glancing over at the flowers on the shelves.

“I still feel bad for the way Hori kept talking to you last night. She can be…immature a lot of the time.”

Karren snorts. “ _Ja_ , I’ve gotten the lot of it. She should apologize for her own actions.” _Though I should also apologize for my own._ “It’s always been this way though. I can’t complain for her meanness when I am equally as bad.”

Karren was the one to drive Hori to such an attitude. Karren knows this. Nothing can be changed about it.

Hinami walks to the corner. Begins to take out some boxes of mason jars and small bags of dirt. Karren suspects she has to restock the shelves, since there are a lot of empty places.

“Do you need any help?” Karren asks. She surprises herself.

Hinami stops messing with the boxes. “If you want to. I just need to plant some more flowers in these jars and put them on the shelves, I’m sure an extra hand would speed up the process.” She smiles again.

Karren walks over to the counter and to the boxes. “See this as an apology of sorts. I was rather impolite to you when you needed help the other night.”

“It’s okay. I figured it out eventually,” Hinami says, gesturing to the shelves. “If you would, could you start taking out these jars and fill the small watering can? I’m going to run to the back and get the flowers.”

She starts to unpack the box, nodding as she does so. “Yes, I can.”

“Great!” Hinami exclaims. “There’s a sink over there, and a can on the self. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Karren nods. Genuinely smiles as she walks through the door into the back. Hinami is a very happy person to be around.

There’s something about Hinami that is interesting. She thinks it’s due to the fact that she is so nice. Too nice to be a ghoul. It’s a scent that rolls off like anything else. She thinks that if Hinami really _is_ a ghoul, then she _must_ know that Karren is one as well.

 There was something about the way she first looked at Karren though-with wide eyes, surprised eyes, the look of a memory and doubt written across her face and the smell of curiosity drifting off of her. She sees a puzzle working its way across Hinami’s eyes, trying to figure out who she is. Karren is intrigued; she wants to know why.

She turns to grab the watering can and walks to the sink. Fills it up and places it on the counter. The ghoul returns with a huge box of single flowers, their roots packed in with dirt. She sees daffodils and pansies and anemones and azaleas and irises, separate branches of beginning magnolias, lilacs and tulips, _roses_.

_Tick. Tick._

The door opens again, and Hori is balancing 3 mugs of coffee between two hands and a small container of sugar cubes. “This is really hot!”

Hinami sets down the box of flowers. She takes a mug and the container, setting them down on the opposite side of the counter. Karren takes a moment to look over the flowers again. She’s surprised at some of the flowers that they do have-some are very early, some don’t even _bloom_ in Japan. She’s quite impressed.

A mug of coffee slides over to her. It’s pure and black, probably just made with a standard coffee maker. It’s coffee though. Despite the staggering heat of it, she takes a sip.

_Bland. It’ll do._

“Karren, you don’t want anything in your coffee?” Hinami asks.

“ _Nein, Danke._ ”

Hinami looks perplexed. She curses herself.

“No, thank you though. I prefer it to be plain.”

“Ah, okay. I have to add a tiny bit of sugar. I think it gives it a little more of a flavor.” Hinami explains.

Karren nods. “I should try it sometime.”

“Are we planting flowers?” Hori asks.

“Yeah, just so it’s ready for tomorrow. I hope they don’t wilt overnight.” Hinami says. “It’s a bit cold in here, but I’m not sure it’s enough.”

“Crank the AC up then.” Hori takes a sip of her coffee.

Hinami shakes her head. “No, we’ll freeze!”

“You could always rotate the flowers.” Karren says. “The ones that didn’t sell today get put in the front, and ones about to bloom in the back. It’s better to have an assortment of buds and blooms so that way people can decide if they want something fresh and new as opposed to a 3-day old flower about to begin wilting.”

Hinami and Hori simply stare at her.

“Told you she was good.” Hori says. Karren smiles proudly.

They begin to plant the flowers. They sit on the floor in a line, where Hori puts the flower in the little jars and Karren packs it down with soil. Hinami waters it and lines it up while also switching out the flowers, as Karren had suggested. Planting is something she hasn’t done in a very long time. It’s nostalgic. It makes her remember those times in the rose garden, by herself, where she was able to be alone and ponder in her own world.

Sometimes she misses that sanctuary. It’s the one thing she did care for that she misses. The feel of the petals between her fingers, the occasional sting of a thorn pricking the surface of her skin; she misses the way the flowers looked in bloom, colors melting together in harmony as sunlight reflected through the solarium. Velvet reds and crisp whites, deep purples reminiscent of her hair. Every variation of them. The largest pinned to her chest.

_Live beautifully with your head held high._

They finish planting the flowers. Hinami allows her to take a rose home for helping. She doesn’t know the color yet, as it hasn’t bloomed.

Karren says goodbye and leaves the shop.

She puts the rose on her desk when she gets back to her apartment.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> karren can't stand hori i feel bad but the sass is real


	3. meal plans

Karren is sitting on the couch in a small club.

It’s lit by neon lights hanging above. A bar is to the right of her, a dance floor in the center. Chairs and tables and couches surround it. There are quite a lot of people in this club, and the music is blaring from speakers all around, making it hard to hear. A glass of wine is nestled between her long fingers, legs crossed. She’s been sipping at it for the better part of an hour, and it tastes horrid. The stale flavor of pure rot dances across her tongue, and the aftermath of the sip lingers on her lips. It makes her breath warm and body eventually fuzzy, taking the same effect as the spoiled blood she usually drinks.

She scans around the bar. She doesn’t normally come to this one, but it’s apparently popular with many tattoo artists. Some faces look familiar to her, others are not. She recognizes a few of her older clients, her art emblazoned on their skin, free and open in the welcoming club.

Bodies are beautiful to Karren, no matter their shape or form. She loves all the ways that people and ghouls decide to decorate their bodies with, as if it is a holy place. With modifications of all kind and ink on their skin, the body, to her, is a canvas; while the body is clean at birth, it’s destined to get bumped and hit and redesigned. Every scar is one story or another, every tattoo and piercing another. The body is a collection of tales, used to explain what an individual has been through in life, to express their deepest feelings. Every little prick of the stained needle in and out and in and out is a step closer to another meaning, one that will be there forever. She has the opportunity to see all of these moments in the process of tattooing. She can see what her clients want, she can guess what it means until they tell her why they decided to have it permanently. It’s a beautiful thing to be able to witness.

Though it’s hard to come by this type of self-expression on the streets. On the streets, she and everyone else have to cover up what they have for their stories. People are beginning to slowly accept the type of art, but there are still those who will stop at nothing to approach any of them and disrespect them. It’s happened to Karren before. She’s often not allowed in spas or swimming pools in order to retain respect for everyone else, since her tattoos are so visible. One on her collarbone, one on her waistline, one on her back. She wants to get one that goes all up the side of her body, from her feet and on the underside of her arm, but she would instantly be disregarded by any potential workplace or business. She finds the ordeal and stigma unjust. At least here, she’s able to shed her coat. Everyone is. She’s able to spot at least one tattoo or piercing on everyone here, enjoying themselves as they are, if not to their fullest extent. Even she’s been out on the dancefloor tonight, dancing rather closely to a few different girls.

One particular girl slapped her ass.

Karren had been a bit shocked by it, and mad. She passed it off though. She turned around to face the girl, who was very coy looking. The smell of alcohol and heavy perfume infiltrated Karren’s nose more than any of the others. She won’t deny that she was very pretty-the girl had long pink hair with bangs, black roots just beginning to show at the top of her head. Sleeves of tattoos covered her arms. She’d grabbed Karren by the shoulders and yelled over the music that purple and pink were colors that went together well, and she had laughed in reply. She had to stay in a happy mood-otherwise it’d ruin her plan.

Karren escaped her by going to sit on the couch. She’s still out there, as she can clearly see the dance floor and the vibrant locks of hair. She’s the one for the night. She needs to get back up to the girl. All she’s been doing on this couch is sitting and sipping and checking the time routinely, and it’s getting quite boring being alone. She takes a large swig of the alcohol and tries not to recoil in regards of the taste. She sets the glass down on the table and walks up to the dance floor again, making her way to the pink-haired girl.

She’s very pleased to see Karren, and hugs her at the sight. “You came back for me!”

 _Fass mich nicht an._ Karren smiles. “Of course I did!”

The girl pulls her further into the crowd. She starts dancing with Karren, very closely pressed against her. Karren doesn’t mind it at all. “You’re really cute.” She tells the girl. The girl bops the tip of Karren’s nose in response. Karren takes her face in both of her hands and plants a soft kiss on her cheek.

The girl takes her by the hips and pulls her even closer, almost uncomfortably so. “Your accent is cuter! Where are you from?” She asks Karren.

“Germany.”

“I’ve got a foreigner girlfriend!” The girl seems so ecstatic even though she’s joking.

“Can I buy you a drink?” Karren asks.

“Yeah!” The girl tears away from Karren’s body, leaving it feeling lighter. She grabs Karren’s hand and drags her to the bar.

So far, Karren thinks she’s doing alright. This is a new plan. She’s enchanted the girl, enough so that perhaps after a few drinks-

“Can I have a vodka with raspberry seltzer please?” The girl asks the bartender.

“It’s on me.” Karren says. The bartender nods and starts to make the drink, Karren pulling out some cash from her wristlet and laying it on the bar.

She wants to strike now, goddammit. She’s practically starving. A few drinks is too long to wait. The girl is already drunk enough-she was here before Karren arrived. The moment she gets her drink and Karren is able to pay, she leads them back to the couch she’d been sitting on before she got up to dance again. Her wine glass from earlier is still there, not that it’s been that long since she drank it.

_Tick. Tick._

“So, what’s your name?” The girl slurs, lifting the glass to her lips.

“Karren.” She replies. She makes an effort to move closer to the girl. “What is yours?”

“I’m Aya.” A small smile. “Thank you for the drink!”

Karren makes a noise of affirmation. “You’re welcome.”

A hand on the girl’s thigh. A hand making its way to the girl’s cheek once more. The girl barely has enough time to set her drink down on the table before Karren presses her lips to hers. She’s so passionate about it, and Karren seems to be. Their mouths move together, tastes intermixing with each other, tongues working their way in the way the French do it.

The girl scoots closer. Deepens the kiss, making it heavier. She’s practically sitting on top of Karren. The girl pulls away for a split second to catch her breath, but leans forward again to continue kissing. Karren tastes lip gloss and alcohol and _my_ her flavor is _unglaublich!_

She feels a hand working its way up her curves. It slides in her flower-patterned blazer and underneath her black bralette. The sensation is thrilling and shocking. She pulls away from the girl for a brief moment.

“Outside.” She says. The girl nods. Karren stands and takes her hand, trying to quickly reach the exit of the club. The feeling of Aya’s lips linger on her own. She pushes the door open and they walk into the alleyway the club is on, down a tiny bit and to the left behind a sign. There’s no one else around.

Almost violently, Aya pulls her close and begins to kiss her. Karren hastily takes her blazer off, discarding it on the dusty ground. She loves it, and she’s rather mad that it’s going to be so dirty afterwards. She supposes she’ll have to get it dry-cleaned after. Their mouths continue to move in harmony, and their hands move up and down each other’s figures rapidly, clammy hands touching sweaty skin. Aya sheds the top she’s wearing so she’s only wearing a bra. Their bodies collide together.

Karren feels small fingers on her breast. She hadn’t noticed Aya’s hand slip there once more between their pleasure. She begins to suck parts of Aya’s neck, leaving ticklish kisses and purple marks down her pale skin, making her way back to her lips as always. It’s as if they’re dancing to a rhythm only they know of-working as a pair, knowing each other’s needs for the moment.

But this isn’t love.

Karren wraps her arms tightly around Aya’s waist. Hugging her close. She kisses her again. Her kagune is poking at her skin, slithering out of her lower back. It moves so it binds the two, settling behind Aya.

She pulls away. She can feel her kakugan emerge in her eyes even though they’re closed.

She opens them. Aya looks confused.

“It’s a shame to waste a perfect little moment like this. You’re so beautiful.”

Without a second thought, her kagune pierces all the way through Aya’s skull.

The girl’s body is still warm once it falls against her in dead weight. She doesn’t know who will be passing through this alley. She has to work her way around being caught.

The other side of this wall.

Karren dislodges her kagune from her head. Blood drips from its sharp tip. She jumps to the rooftop, then jumps back down. Burrowed in between closed buildings, she’s able to eat what she wants. She has to make sure she has enough sustainability for another few weeks or so. It’s messy. She starts with the thighs, then the arms. She completely stuffs herself full, the meat sweet in her mouth, warm and tender.

At least Aya’s body was beautiful.

It’s taken her a long time to get used to living like this. She was used to eating once a week. It was prepared in any way-thinly sliced and served raw, a chunk of abdominal muscles grilled. Baked liver. Blood soup, frozen bone marrow. Always gourmet food. Only a few times she was ever made to eat like this. Hunting was not a problem at all-she was second best when it came to strategy. Only when she was doing it for the Tsukiyama’s, she had backup. It didn’t take nearly as long as this hunt. No, she’s doing this for herself.

 She doesn’t have backup anymore.

She has to make it look like she was a victim. She has to make a false scene. She’s already been out here for a while. There is blood on her hands and lip. She jumps to the other side of the wall.

She peels her lip open. It immediately begins to bleed and swells a little. She releases her kagune again and chips a piece off of the end. She takes a deep breath and plunges it into her forearm very deep. She doesn’t want it to heal as fast as it usually does. She slides it down her skin, trying her best not to yelp in pain. She takes the piece out of her muscle and hides it in her pocket.

She needs more than just this to get past the investigators.

Karren looks to the wall. It’s cement. She walks towards it and turns her back to it.

She slams her head against it.

_Crack._

“ _Ficken Christus!_ ” She tries not to be too loud. It was too hard of a hit. An almost instant headache begins to form. Her vision is becoming blurred, and she’s having a hard time trying to stand up straight against the wall. The back of her head is becoming warm and sticky. She was trying to achieve a concussion, _not_ a shattered skull.

_Ich bin ein Verdammter Idiot!_

She needs the wound to heal a little bit. She can’t be taken to the hospital. This is becoming a lot more complicated than she originally thought it to be, though luckily the feeling of mending bone is starting. She pushes herself off the wall, stumbling and trying to balance herself.

Karren begins to scream.

The pain. The horror of what just happened. She tries her hardest to run towards the bar, tears forming in her eyes. A sob constricts her throat.

She almost trips up the steps to the bar. She fumbles at the doorknob, distressingly trying to open it. It’s hard to focus and use her body now that part of her brain is injured. She’s finally able to grasp it between her forefinger and thumb, pulling at it and forcing the door open. She looks at the bodyguard, and he looks shocked, eyeing over her disgruntled state and the amount of blood on her.

“Ma’am, are you alright-?” He begins, but Karren cuts him off with rapid and slurred words.

“There was something in the air and it came down and-and everything _hurts_ and she-she’s _gone-_ ” “Please, miss, calm down.” He says, but she can’t. She breaks down, her cries completely vocalized. She shakes with terror.

“ _N-nein, sie ist w-weg-_ ”

“I can’t understand you.”

“Is she okay?” Someone asks.

“Call the police!” The bodyguard yells. “Please, tell me what happened, miss.”

The noise is distant, the music abruptly stopping. She can make out that much.

“We were outside and something _hit_ me and my head is aching and there was blood _everywhere_ , she’s _gone._ ” Karren sobs.

“What did she look like?”

“S-She had pink hair and h-her name was Aya and there’s blood _all on the wall!”_ She can’t catch her breath. She can hear the man gasp, and she assumes he saw the back of her head, her hair matted with blood, splattered down her neck. Someone takes her by the arm-her uninjured one-and sits her down on the couch.

Everything passes quickly. People question why the music has stopped. What’s going on and why there’s a bloody hot mess of a girl sitting on the couch hyperventilating. One girl comes over and gives her a glass of water with a straw in it so she can try to refresh herself, but she’s having a hard time just _trying_ to settle down.

The police arrive. They walk towards her. They portray themselves as livid, but she can see that their eyes are full of worry and concern towards the matter. A fake face.

“Could you please tell us where the incident happened?” They almost immediately ask.

“Th-there’s an inlet and a large sign c-covering it and it’s behind there,” Karren answers, her breaths hitched.

“Thank you. This man is going to take a look at your injuries, is that okay?” Karren nods. It makes her feel woozy.

He looks at her arm first, sterilizing it with alcohol which makes it burn like hell, and wraps it in gauze. He asks if she remembers the incident at all.

“We were t-trying to be alone. I’d just met her. Something- _nein_ , it was someone, kicked me against the wall-I saw something long tear through her, and-” The tears start to come again. Her head throbs from the injury and from crying.

He looks suddenly very scared. He grabs his pager and begins to speak into it. “Survivor says she saw something tear through the victim. Call the ghoul investigators.”

_Right there._

She has no intention of settling down.

He tells her to turn around and look down to the floor. He begins to ruffle through her hair to take a look at the injury. Apparently enough is still there that it has to be wrapped up. She looks ridiculous.

The officer offers her a ride back to her apartment, and she accepts it. Mostly because she’s simply too out of it and _tired_ to walk home at this moment. She’s led outside, down the alley way again. She’s able to see the investigation and ghoul investigators. A chill runs down her spine at the sight, and fear is instilled in her as she sees them looking over the wall.

She gets in the back of the police car. The officer asks for her address. She tells it to him and he begins to drive to the apartment. The light from the moon and the city bounce off the windows as they drive down the Tokyo streets and to her apartment.

This plan was too tiring and time consuming.

They reach her apartment and she gets out. “Take care.” The officer says. “You may have to go to another interrogation tomorrow. If you can, try and write down everything you remember so you don’t forget it.”

She nods. “Thank you, sir.”

He nods back and she steps out of the car. He drives away, and she finds her way into her apartment.

The moment she shuts the door, she’s stone cold. The façade drops. Her disheveled state of crying is done for. She wipes the tears from her face, unwraps the gauze from her head so she can wash her hair tonight. She’s mad she left her coat on the ground at the scene. At least she still has her wristlet. She takes her phone out and checks it quickly.

A message.

_Hey Karren, I was wondering if you’d want to go get some coffee sometime? Let me know soon! -Hinami_

It was from 3 hours ago. She takes in a deep breath of air. The time is 1 A.M.

She quickly sends a message back. _I’m free for this week at noon. We can also meet after work if you’d prefer._ She doubts she’ll get a reply tonight.

At least she’s home earlier than she expected to be. She discards the gauze on her arm and throws all the wrappings in the trashcan. She needs to sit down for a few minutes. Her feet are killing her. She sits on the black couch in the living room and flips on the small TV, lying down and facing it. The news is on.

“-a new report has come from the CCG as of tonight at 12:30 that the Nakano-Shibuya area is currently under watch for heightened ghoul activity. They want everyone to stay safe and recommend going around with partners and to be aware of enclosed spaces, such as alleys and small streets.”

_They’ve taken notice of me, then._

Karren flips to another channel.

The ticking is loud as she drifts to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was so EXCITED to write this chapter but it didn't quite reach my expectations but i tried   
> anyways my baby knows how to act really well apparently


	4. the familial taste of coffee

_Ich möchte schlafen ich möchte schlafen ich möchte schlafen ich möchte schlafen_ -

She’s in her arms again. Her body is pressed against her bare thighs, an arm supporting her lifeless ragdoll of a body. She can hear her laughing right above her in the echoing room.

Her body aches all over.

“Dying.”

“Inevitable.”

A stitch.

“Scorn.”

“Humans.”

A stitch.

“ _Woman_.”

A pause.

“Woman.”

A stitch.

Over and over and over and over and over and she’s _over_ being held like this, she’s _over_ having these words spat at her and spitting them back just to keep what’s left of her sanity.

“Please let me sleep…”

She laughs.

It’s cold in this room her body hurts and it feels like she’s laying on _nails_ her back, her back, her eyes her lips everywhere she’s _touched_ just _hurts like hell_ but there’s nothing she can do to stop it because it keeps coming and coming and coming-

And here she comes again, she can see her coming again with scissors and a needle and thread to cut her open and stitch her up again as if she’s some toy to play with because that’s all she _is,_ she’s been taught that it’s all she’ll ever _be,_ she is _selfish_ and she’ll _never be loved_.

_If this is God, then what is hell?_

( _Bitte, lassen Sie mich schlafen._ )

God has stripped her of her identity, her need, her life, her love and feelings.

Nude on the floor and shivering in the cold dark room, there’s a lock on the outside but there’s no handle on the inside and she doesn’t have the strength to yell and she doesn’t want to be helped but she _wants to get out_ just _please let me out of here please let me out of here please_ and when her god has gone the ticking of a dozen _two_ dozen _three_ dozen clocks not in sync ring endlessly in her ears and reverberates against the walls.

She’s knocked them over before but the ticking simply won’t stop. Her body aches. Her ears hurt. Her eyes keep tearing and the taste of blood forever lingers on her tongue in the name of her family, in the name of her service in the names of _Kanae_ and _Tsukiyama_ and _Rosewald_ and God, is this even worth it anymore?

She can see her coming again and there’s nothing she can do but lay on the floor, because for whatever reason even if this isn’t right, it feels _true_ to Karren, who’s fallen for her God’s worthless and untrue words.

The ticking won’t stop.

The stitches are back.

_Ich will einfach nur schlafen._

::::::::::::

Karren jolts awake in her bed.

Her hands and head are sweaty; her body is aching again. Tears prick at the corner of her eyes. She rips apart her eyelids and her lips because the persisting feeling of stitches is there. She blinks rapidly. Opens her mouth in O’s and A’s, rubbing a hand down her face. Trying to take deep breaths to relieve herself of the pain.

It’s not there anymore.

She doesn’t have to worry anymore. It’s not there. Eto isn’t here, there are no stitches in her eyes or lips, and the taste of blood is going away. The feeling of pins in her back is slowly fading. Nothing is here and she is safe, in her own bed under the warmth of her comforter. She’s in her pajamas. She’s not on the cold damp floor.

She rubs at her eyes and stands up from her bed, the blankets falling around her. She’s shaking so badly that it’s hard to keep still, plus the sudden blurring vision from moving too fast. She grabs the nearest piece of furniture and uses it as a guide to get to the end of her room. She turns on the light. Immediately shuts her eyes from the brightness. She just wants to get some water.

This is a nightly experience. She hasn’t slept for a full night ever since Eto. It’s something she’s tried to rub off, tried to get help for on her own, but the nightmares simply won’t leave her alone. She wishes she could say that’s all they are, but it’s the fact that she spent two weeks like that which won’t leave her be.

A lot of the times after the nightmares, the _memories,_ she thinks about Eto’s words. How they influenced her in such a brief period of time, how easily she’d been gotten to. She had been so vulnerable, and all because of one person. She thinks about how they could have been true. Was she selfish? She knows she wanted to be so loved, but is that really what she wanted? Was that just another thing drilled into her head by Eto?

 It’s hard to draw the line between these things. Everything blurs together when she thinks of the topic, because in reality she had been thinking of _so many different things_ and _contemplating_ Eto’s words as they were so easily said to her, so many things easily mushing together with the thoughts she had been trying to separate to keep herself aware. The idea of it actually happening seems so unreal, but putting herself back into the mindset, such as the nightmares, makes her realize just how _real_ it was. How it actually happened.

It scares Karren.

 _I don’t want to be loved anymore_.

Karren finally finds her way to the kitchen. Slams the light on. Drowsiness raids her, her breath still shaking with the rest of her terrified and adrenaline-pumped body. She tries to grab a glass sitting at the edge of the sink. It falls over and hits the metal base loudly, part of it shattering.

_Ich will nur einige verdammt Wasser!_

The tears that were sitting in her eyes spill over. Raspy noises produce from her throat. Sobs wrack through her body as she curls up on the floor.

She’s so fucking _tired_ of this.

She’s tired of these nightmares and tired of this fear. She’s tired of waking _every single night_ only to have a crisis and be ridden with fear. She’s tired of the residual feeling of stitches in her eyes and on her lips, she’s tired of the pain, she’s tired of not feeling the way she should, like a _woman_ , she’s just _tired._

 The tears won’t subside. She leans her head against her knees, the salty water bedewing her pants. She wraps her arms around her legs. Tries to quiet the sounds of her crying, whimpering, _sobbing._ Being a complete and total mess and breaking down.

_Ich möchte schlafen. Bitte._

::::::::::::

Her phone is ringing.

She lifts her head groggily from her knees. The kitchen light above her is on, though her apartment is flooded with natural light as well. The tile floor is cold, and she can feel it through her pants. Her face feels sticky and hot. Her eyes feel dry and tired.

She’s so tired.

She pulls herself up from the floor. She’s standing in front of the sink. She sees the broken glass in the sink. She runs a hand down her face, humiliation tinging her cheeks rose.

Karren fell asleep on the floor. She doesn’t know what time she got up last night, but she remembers trying to get a glass of water. She remembers it breaking. She remembers herself breaking. She doesn’t remember falling asleep, only that she had been crying and that she had stopped, somehow, and time flew by.

She begins to pick up the pieces of glass, placing the large fragments in what remains of the cup. She walks to the trashcan and dumps it in. She looks at the time on the stove.

11:37.

_Oh mein Gott._

She’s going to be late for her and Hinami’s meeting. That’s probably who was calling, she realizes.

Karren rushes to her room. She picks up her charging phone. It was, in fact, Fueguchi Hinami, and she is, in fact, quite late. She’s supposed to be meeting her for coffee in a little over an hour, and she needs to get ready. She needs to get there. She hasn’t been to this café before, so obviously she needs directions _again_.

She starts to get ready. God, she’s such an idiot. She’s so angry at herself for sleeping in. They planned this two days ago, with the expectancy of the both of them being on time. She even _bragged_ about herself always being on time, even being _early_ in most cases. She curses under her breath. She supposes this is what she gets for boasting.

She brushes her hair. At least, tries to-It’s an absolute rats nest. While it’s not as bad as it had been with the dried blood that simply wouldn’t come out and _stained_ her hair, it’s still difficult, and she’s ripping the comb through sections, dousing it in water and detangler. She can already tell that today is going to be exceptionally difficult for no other reason than her own anger.

Perhaps what she’s most mad about is her lack of sleep. How it always gets in the way of her life. Karren gets angry at Eto, at herself for letting Eto drag her into the situation she ended up in. Really, this is her fault. The reason she simply can’t sleep, the reason she’s still plagued by her sickeningly sweet and high voice is because she had been lured into a trap.  She’s still stuck in that time. The time of being on the floor, sprawled out or curled up, being played with physically and emotionally.

 She hates how Eto is still there, whispering small things in the back of her mind. She hates how the endless ticking of clocks is always there now, regardless of whether or not she notices it. It’s something she’s become used to, but if she really focuses, _really_ , it begins to get to her again and the need for it to stop repeats in her head.

All of this as the outcome of simply _wanting_ to feel something. To be _loved_.

Eto kept telling her that she wouldn’t feel anything in return. She wouldn’t be loved by anyone.

Karren shivers.

The ability to influence her like that. All Eto had been trying to do was manipulate her. _Use_ her, as she uses nearly everyone in Aogiri base, just like a marionette.

_I can be your God._

Karren shakes her head. Eto was never her god.

She doesn’t like to dawdle with the thought, but somehow it always comes back to this. It’s where her mind always wanders to, even though it could be anywhere else. It’s like she can’t escape that section of her life, no matter how much she wants to. She just wants it to go away. Sometimes she wishes she could just forget it, all of it, but starting new wouldn’t do her any good because it still _happened._ She wants to look back and have the memories not be there. She doesn’t want the feelings she gets, she doesn’t want to hear the clock anymore, there are so many things she _doesn’t want_ because of Eto.

Because of herself.

She will forever blame herself on why she’s like this. To stoop as low as being so emotionally vulnerable like that, to someone she doesn’t _know_ , simply due to her caring.

_Was it even caring?_

There’s no doubt she cared for Tsukiyama Shuu. There’s no doubt that she once had feelings for Shuu. Looking back on that time though, looking at herself at that point when Eto had found her, she was beyond those feeling. She wanted to be just like him-every action, every word, every step. She wanted him to be better, but only so she could get the attention she longed for.

_Is that all I wanted?_

Karren had never had the attention she wished for as a teenager, mostly due to the fact that she wasn’t in any sort of line for family. Her family was _dead._ Karren wasn’t allowed to live as Shuu did even if Mirumo had cared for her in a similar way. He took her in, she paid a debt of service. She was never bragged about during social gatherings, only gossiped about when she first arrived. She didn’t have any parental figure to look up to besides Matsumae, and she still can’t decide if that’s how Matsumae really felt about her, not that she’ll ever have the chance to ask. Her primary source of attention was Shuu, who gave her what she thought was everything.

Shuu was the one she went to when she needed help. When she did something right. When she was in need of something. It was when Karren really needed it he wasn’t there, because Shuu had his own life, his own friends, and he _was_ the attention. Thinking about it now, she’s very jealous of him and his idea that he could just lay in bed and waste three years of his life because of someone else. She’d never seen him so reliant on another person, yet he was on his death bed until he knew that Ken Kaneki was still alive. It pisses Karren off.

The need for attention, for _love,_ for _anything_. It nearly got her killed.

There is one thing that she knows isn’t true-that she’ll never be loved. It’s still possible for someone to love her, she thinks. When Eto first told her that, it really messed her up. She believed it. It’s why when she was so desperately trying to kill Haise, no, Ken Kaneki, she thought it would give her more of a chance, but it’s such a ridiculous thought. She was in no right state of mind during that raid. Eto brainwashed her to see the destruction of Haise Sasaki, and she got what she wanted. Eto told her that simply to make her _want it more_. Now she knows that people can fall for her, romantically, sexually.

It’s the decision to not want to care for them back.

Rather, it’s not a decision. It’s this fear she has. Nothing she does affectionately is close to love. She’s afraid of not being able to find the line between true feelings and obsession again. Even if she’s not around an influence anymore, even if she isn’t being _forced_ to care, she’s afraid she’ll mess up. It’s as though Eto extracted the ability to even admire someone anymore, because she can’t look up to people without feeling a tinge of panic.

Karren deeply inhales. Exhales. She finds a hair clip and pulls part of her hair up in a knot at the top of her head. She sets the brush down. She sits at the vanity and starts with her makeup.

_I don’t want to be loved anymore._

::::::::::::

She’s late.

It figures that the one day she’s actually made it a point to _not_ be late that she actually is. Karren can see the sign Hinami had told her to look for, the one written in chalk with :re written at the top. After being in Japan for so long and speaking Japanese for the majority of her life, stumbling upon anything in Romanized letters is a bit strange, especially at a local coffee shop. Nevertheless, she steps into the café and is immediately greeted by a blue-haired girl, who looks at her rather peculiarly. It’s nearly identical to how Hinami had first looked at her, with both kind eyes and familiarity, and interest.

“Are you looking for Hinami?” The blue-haired girl asks.

Karren raises an eyebrow. “I am, yes.” It takes her a minute to scan the shop to realize she’s the only one here. She _thought_ she was late. She looks up at a clock hanging up at the wall. It’s 12:42. “How did you know-?”

“She told me this morning that she was expecting someone here at around 12:30, and no one has really been around today.” She says as she wipes down a countertop. “I probably shouldn’t have just assumed, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Karren replies.

There’s an awkward silence. She really wishes Hinami would hurry up.

“Is there anything I can get for you while you’re waiting?” The waitress asks.

“Ah…sure,” Karren says. “May I just have a coffee?”

The waitress nods. Karren reads her nametag. _Touka._ It sounds familiar. “Of course, we have some specials today too if you’re interested in those.”

“What do you have?” Karren walks into the café a bit further and takes a seat on one of the stools. Sitting down she is eye-level with Touka.

“We have a dark-roasted brew, hazelnut, and a sweet cream latte.”

They’re all very tempting. “Could I have the hazelnut brew please?”

Touka nods and begins to pull out materials she needs-a manual filter, unground beans. Karren finds some cash in her wallet. “It’s going to take a few minutes to brew and steep. Lucky, you get a fresh pot.” Karren smiles and lays the small amount of cash on the table.

Something about the air changes a bit.

“I don’t mean to sound rude,” Touka says, “but you seem very familiar.”

 _As do you._ “What do you mean by that?” Karren asks.

There’s a slight moment of hesitation in Touka’s manner. Trying to decide whether or not she really wants to say it. “Your demeanor. Your…hair. Even your face, though I have-no, never mind.”

Karren shifts as Touka takes the money. _Spit it out._

A few minutes passes by. Karren takes out her phone. There’s absolutely nothing from Hinami or Hori. She sighs and puts it back in her pocket. The ambient music is the only thing that fills that café besides the sound of the coffee dripping into a cup.

_Tick. Tick._

Karren has a headache.

 _Maybe the caffeine will help_.

“Tsukiyama Shuu.” Touka says abruptly. “That’s who you remind me of.”

Karren’s jaw nearly drops.

“I take it you know the idiot.” Touka sneers. She’s gone back to making the coffee. “You seem more mature, at least, but I still don’t know why you look so familiar, or similar…”

“If you’re going to criticize me then maybe you base it on my actual being rather than comparing it to someone who happens to be on your obvious bad side.” Karren remarks.

It’s not that Touka glares. It’s definitely not a glare. It’s analyzing.

“Here’s your coffee, by the way.” Karren mumbles a thank you and Touka begins to clean up her area.

She sips at the coffee. She’s only ever had hazelnut coffee once before, but she’s positive that this is the exact same brew she had a few years ago. She swears by it.

“ _Toll.”_ She murmurs.

Touka knows Shuu. This is the same coffee she’s had. Touka is familiar. Touka knows Hinami. Karren knows Touka now.

The world is small, and this changes a bit.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this ending was unexpected and touka wasn't supposed to be here but i like it, i just hope she's not ooc


End file.
